When I came back from Dublin, I brought with me a new copy of Ulysses, which was a necessity. I haven’t started reading it yet because I don’t believe I am equipped enough to understand such a fragmented text and honestly I don’t want to give up somewhere in the middle.
But I did love Dublin, it was a beautiful beautiful city, and when I came home I roughly wrote down some verse on the first few blank pages at the beginning of Ulysses – as a memorial to the time I had spent in Dublin. While it’s not my best work, I do think it’s a pretty bit of poetry, so here it is: